You Had Your Chance
by OrangeShipper
Summary: Epic angst one-shot spawned from the incredible teaser for series 2. Lavinia/Matthew/Mary. Chapter 3: A kiss, interrupted.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: _This week, as many Downton fans are no doubt aware, we were treated to the ridiculous exciment of a leaked teaser clip for Series 2 with SO MUCH MATTHEW AMAZINGNESS and a severe dose of M/M angst!_

_Well, I just couldn't get the image of them staring at each other like that out of my head, and so this happened... It actually pained me to write. It really did. But I needed it out of my system!_

_Thank you Silverduck for all the polish!  
><em>

_Hope you enjoy!_

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><p><strong>You Had Your Chance<strong>

The regimental headquarters in York were bustling, with half its companies back in the country on leave for a week. Robert was working here now, but Matthew had only arrived back from France earlier that day. The relaxed atmosphere of the officer's mess provided a welcome opportunity, after a hot shower and a change of uniform, to catch up in relative comfort with officers from other sections of the regiment.

It didn't take long for him to find a relatively quiet corner with Robert, where the two men sat with a brandy each, relaying their news. Aside from the latest from the front, which Robert was eager to hear, their talk also concerned the upcoming regimental ball.

"You know we've offered to hold it at Downton?"

"Oh, have you? Well, it seems as good a place for it as any," Matthew smiled.

"Yes, well. You know I don't feel like I'm being much use stuck back here, so it's one more small way of doing what I can." Robert knew that he was getting no younger, and that the front was no longer his place; but he did feel so 'out' of it here in Yorkshire.

"Of course. It seems a splendid idea to me. I'll look forward to it – I've not been up there since I left the first time." He'd avoided it, if he was honest. Too many memories… Too much history. But of course he wanted to support the regiment, so he would simply have to bear it.

"You're quite right. I won't lie, Matthew, it'll be good to see you at Downton once more. It has been a long time, and we have missed you – though your mother's kept us well informed of your activities," Robert smiled fondly at his heir.

"I'll bet she has!" Matthew chuckled, then shifted slightly in his seat. He'd been wondering when to bring this up, and now the opportunity arose… He supposed he couldn't avoid it any longer. He sighed inwardly; why on earth was he always looking upon it as something to avoid? Ridiculous… Well. Best bite the bullet. "Actually," he said slowly, "there is one thing my mother won't have told you yet. Something I'd rather you heard from me directly."

"Oh?" Robert frowned gently, intrigued.

Matthew swallowed, tugged his collar a little, then smiled brightly.

"Well, I'm… To put it simply, I suppose… I am engaged to be married!" He blew out a deep breath, feeling relieved at having got it out in the open.

"Engaged?" It took a moment to register with Robert, before a slow smile spread over his face. "Well, my dear chap, you are full of surprises! Who is she?"

"Yes! I'm sorry if it seems I've concealed it, but I wanted to tell you in person," Matthew grinned, relaxing a little. "She's a young lady I've known a long time; a Miss Lavinia Swire. We got to know each other very well in Manchester before I joined the regiment, and we wrote very often while I've been away and – well, you know how these things go on." He blushed a little. "She's very sweet girl, quiet and unassuming, she's quite lovely – I think she suits me very well, really. I've needed that calm, that comfort… Well, you know how it is."

"Well, Matthew, I'm very happy for you. You should cable her to come to the ball on Friday – it would be splendid to meet her!"

"Oh, I don't think that's necessary –"

"Matthew, I insist. It would be a pleasure."

"Very well." He supposed, somewhat sardonically, that of course they would be curious to meet the woman who would one day be Countess… Particularly not being the woman they would have desired, he thought a little bitterly. "Though – Lord Grantham, I – I suppose it's silly of me to say, but… I am sorry to be disappointing your hopes. I know you should have wished me to marry Mary, and I… Well. That is all in the past now."

In the past and dead and buried and gone. She had made her choice quite clear. He had moved on, he was happy.

"Matthew…" The Earl's voice was warm and reassuring. "You're quite right, that was all a long time ago. You must act for your own happiness. You are still my heir, you mean a great deal to Cora and I and we shall gladly welcome your future bride to our home."

"Thank you." Lord Grantham's words had reassured Matthew greatly, and he smiled in gratitude. "Yes, I am happy… I really am. I feel as though I've had little reason to smile, out in all that, and her affection has given me many." He felt a little uncomfortable still to be enthusing about her so, despite Lord Grantham's encouraging expression. Now, then, it seemed a fitting juncture to ask something which had been pressing on his mind without it appearing too untoward. "And what of Mary? I hear she's engaged to Sir Richard Carlisle now?" It was perfectly natural for a man to ask about his cousin, wasn't it? Yes. He did his best to look as disinterested as possible. Why should he be interested? He was engaged himself, now, after all.

"Oh, no. No, that never came off," Robert said. Something cold began to churn in Matthew's stomach that he couldn't place. "She turned him down, I don't really know why. It would've been a good match. But then, who knows what passes through Mary's head, sometimes!"

"Oh. Yes, who indeed?" Matthew was barely listening. He'd thought… _Stop it. Stop it, stop it, stop it._ Why had she turned Carlisle down? The thought flitted across his mind, a hope – _No! Stop it. You can't go there, you mustn't._ Only gradually did he become aware of Lord Grantham speaking once more.

"…might well announce it at the ball!"

"What?" Panic glanced through Matthew's chest and across his features. "Sir, I wish you wouldn't – I don't want any sort of fuss, please."

"Nonsense, Matthew, it deserves an announcement. Dear me, look at you – an engagement is something to celebrate, not be fearful of – intimidating though the institution may be!"

Matthew paled slightly. Lord Grantham, he knew, was quite right. So why _did_ he feel that flutter of fear in his chest? The thought of them all knowing of his engagement, _of her knowing... No, Matthew, you mustn't care about that_ – oh, it was just natural nerves, he was sure.

"Well, Sir, I'll do as you ask and cable Lavinia. I thank you for your congratulations, but I beg you not to think any more of announcing it at the ball until I've spoken to her. She may very well be quite intimidated by it all as it is!" He took a large gulp of brandy, feeling a glow spread through him, and was relieved when the Earl agreed and the conversation moved on. Matthew's thoughts, though, remained occupied with his fiancée; the very idea a little strange to him still. He felt his heart leap a little when he thought of her, a smile crept to his lips – he knew she loved him utterly. Yes, he was happy.

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><p>Of course, it didn't take long for the news to spread around Downton. Robert told Cora when he arrived home that evening, intending to tell the girls over dinner. Though he still wanted to make it official at the regiment's ball, he thought it probably best to give the news a chance to sink in first. Happy though he was for Matthew, it would still come as quite a shock and would need a chance to be absorbed.<p>

He had no idea that Sybil had overheard.

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><p>In the quiet of the evening, Mary was lounging in her bedroom reading before changing for dinner. Despite her best efforts, she was finding it difficult to concentrate; eyes skimming over the words without really taking any of them in. Her fingers flipped idly through the pages. She knew he was arriving back today. She knew he'd be here on Friday. She hadn't seen him for over a year, since she'd bid him goodbye at the train station, and now he was coming back. She wondered if he'd be any different at all... Of course he would, war changed people, she knew that. But surely he'd still be <em>Matthew<em>. Might time have healed the wounds?

Without warning, her peace was disturbed by an insistent tap at the door; she had hardly closed her book before the door swung open and Sybil dashed across to her. Barely stopping for breath, Sybil perched herself on the edge of the chaise longue Mary was reclining on and grasped her hands.

"Darling, what on earth is the matter?" Mary frowned gently in concern, squeezing her sister's hands.

Sybil simply couldn't contain it any longer.

"Matthew's engaged!" She blurted out all at once.

"What?"

She felt as though all the air had been punched out of her. He couldn't… How could he! When… Engaged? She couldn't breathe, she couldn't think; gasping for air she stared wide-eyed at Sybil, her grip on her hands tightening unconsciously.

"Oh Mary, I'm sorry, I just overheard Papa telling Mama… He's just seen Matthew now, I think. Oh, Mary… I hope she's perfectly rotten!"

"Don't be ridiculous, Sybil!" Mary blustered sharply, unfairly, she knew. She couldn't take it in… Surely she must have heard wrong? She shook her head, trying to clear it, drawing on every reserve of willpower within her to remain calm. "I'm sorry, you didn't deserve that. I'm just surprised, that's all. Cousin Isobel certainly kept that quiet!" A short, bitter chuckle left her lips.

"Mary… You don't need to pretend, not to me." Sybil gazed imploringly at her. "I know you still care for Matthew, whatever you say –"

"Oh, Sybil, don't be silly," Mary rubbed her hands briskly, taking a deep, calming breath. She must not crumble now. "That was all a very long time ago! Matthew may do as he likes, and it is no concern of mine. I'm perfectly happy for him."

She doubted Sybil would see through her thin lies. She didn't really care. She was numb, unfeeling, except for the horrible anticipation of knowing that it _would_ hit her, soon, and she didn't know how she would bear it… She needed to be alone. She fixed on her brightest smile. There, see, she was alright…

"Well…" Sybil frowned, clearly sceptical of Mary's reaction. "If that's the case I'm glad, but please Mary – do talk to me."

"Of course, darling. Now, you should go and get ready for dinner, or Anna shan't have time for the three of us."

Sybil nodded reluctantly, pressed a swift kiss to Mary's cheek and left her alone.

As soon as the door had closed, Mary twisted and fell against the arm of the chaise, sobbing brokenly into her arms. It was as though the final nail had been hammered into her heart. It was finished. She'd had her chance to move on. She'd passed it by. She couldn't, not when she still… He had his chance, and he'd taken it. Engaged… She'd lost him. All this time, she'd been so terrified of losing him to the war, the blasted war, but this… This had not even crossed her mind and somehow, _somehow_ it was even worse. To lose his love, even more than his life… His love _and_ his life, for that went with his love... Oh, she had lost him entirely! How could she bear it, to see him, with all hope dashed?

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><p>Lavinia, to Matthew's discomfort, had thought it terribly sweet of Robert to bless their engagement so. Well, if it would make her happy, an announcement there would be. He was proud of her, really; he of all people knew how intimidating it was to be thrown into that circle – at least it seemed she may receive a warmer reception than he had all those years ago!<p>

Standing in the hallway of Crawley House – it felt more like home now than anywhere he'd been this past year during the war – Matthew tugged down the jacket of his dress uniform, straightening it out. He smiled fondly at his mother who stood in front of him, beaming proudly, brushing down his lapels (an entirely unnecessary gesture as Molesley, of course, had done a sterling job already).

"You look splendid, Matthew," she enthused.

"Yes, you really do! The red suits you very well, you know."

Matthew's eyes flicked from his mother, over her shoulder to the woman standing behind her. His smile broadened, gentle dimples forming in his cheek, eyes sparkling affectionately at her.

"You're both biased! I can hardly take your compliments seriously, can I?"

"But they are genuinely given, bias or not – so you can, you see?" Lavinia stepped forwards, past Isobel who had moved aside towards the front door, and brushed her hand down Matthew's arm before linking her fingers through his. Matthew grinned at her, squeezing her hand softly.

"In the face of such logic, then, how can I deny them? Especially when given by two such charming women as yourselves!"

Isobel smiled to herself; her heart was light indeed to see her son so happy. She'd sensed it in his letters, over these last months, as he'd spoken more frequently of Lavinia. His tone had brightened, softened; it seemed she was just what he needed. Glancing back at them, she stepped outside to the car, giving them a moment.

"How indeed?" Lavinia breezed.

Matthew's eyes cast over her appreciatively. She looked delightful, charming, in her green gown to complement his red, her strawberry-blonde hair in soft curls framing her delicate face. He bent his head and kissed her cheek softly.

"You look lovely," he murmured quietly. She blushed, resting her cheek briefly against his shoulder.

"As do you, dear!" Her sweet voice in his ear sent a little shiver through him. Such affection was so alien to him, still. The oddity of having courted her mainly by letter was catching up with him, but not unpleasantly so. Tentatively, his hand reached up to tuck a stray curl back behind her ear, fingers brushing her cheek as he lowered his hand again. He smiled at her little intake of breath.

"Thank you. Are you feeling ready?"

"As I'll ever be, I think!"

"Alright. Shall we, then?"

Matthew placed a hand warmly on the small of her back, but, as she nodded and turned to the door, he suddenly caught her elbow. She turned to face him, lips parted slightly in surprise. On a sudden whim he leaned forward and pressed his lips swiftly to hers before leaning back, cheeks flushing slightly. Lavinia looked momentarily stunned, eyes flashing; then she leaned up and kissed him back more firmly. Matthew gasped softly, tightening his fingers on her arm a fraction, allowing it and relishing it for a fleeting moment before he stepped back, somewhat reluctantly.

"Sorry, Matthew," she grinned at him unapologetically. "Let's go!"

Matthew moistened his lips, staring after her dumbfounded, then gathered himself and followed her out, stepping into the cool evening air.

With every turn in the road that brought them closer to the abbey, Matthew's heart seemed to pound louder in his chest, his lungs tightening. It had been so long… So long. It all seemed like a distant dream, now. It _had_ been a dream, he told himself sternly. This was real life. This, here, now. Not then. Whatever had happened then… It was in the past now. _She_ was in the past. But she would be here… He drew in a sharp breath and turned his head to glance at Lavinia next to him, fixing a bright smile on his face, letting her fill his vision and his thoughts. _Think of her. Not of _her_… This is your life, now._ _This, and her… Not _her_._

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><p>Mary sat at her dresser, dabbing perfume delicately to her wrists and throat. She stared coldly at herself in the mirror. She would need to draw on everything tonight; all her charms and powers and strength, every ounce of determination and will in her body, to get through it.<p>

Anything they might have had, had been over a long, long time ago. Though still so fresh in her mind, every day so fresh in her mind. His face, his voice, that day he had left… She had tried to cling desperately to the thread of what could have been, futile and heartbreaking though it was. But there was nothing between them now… It was in the past. Her Matthew was in the past, this Matthew was not the same Matthew, he couldn't be… He mustn't be... He was engaged, and he must be nothing to her. Except that he was… Oh, he was everything to her. _Stop it. Stop it, stop it, stop it. You can't go there, you mustn't. _

With a deep breath she steeled herself, bracing her hands against the edge of the dresser until her knuckles were white. She _would_ get through this. She would smile charmingly and be perfectly delightful and dance with any soldier who cared to ask her, and she would absolutely not care a fig for Matthew and his fiancée. Her gut twisted even at the thought of the word. _You had your chance, you threw it away! Stop it._

She stood up, smoothed the front of her dress and breezed downstairs, already fighting to remain cool and impassive.

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><p>Matthew's heart was hammering by the time they arrived at the abbey, stepping through the imposing front doors with his hand protectively at Lavinia's elbow, his mother to his other side. He was thankful that many from the regiment had already arrived; he couldn't say why he felt so conspicuous and unsettled. He tried to ignore the clenching feeling in his gut, tried to ignore the tiny reminder, always at the back of his mind, that one day this would be his… and Lavinia's. He glanced at her, wondering what her impressions of it were.<p>

"Oh Matthew! It's stupendous!" She turned and whispered to him, a gleeful smile on her face.

"It's rather impressive, isn't it," he whispered back breathlessly, a faint smile hovering at his lips.

Why did he feel so wrong? So out of place, so nervous, so… guilty, almost. What on earth had he to feel guilty about! Guilty that Lavinia would one day be Countess, and not… He coughed, desperately trying to sway his mind from probing the thought any further. Afraid of what uncomfortable truths might thread to the surface were he to dwell on it.

Mary saw them as soon as they entered the drawing room. It was not as though her eyes had been fixed there, waiting, since she had come down… Her breath stopped in her chest. Matthew, oh Matthew… All else in the room seemed to fade away, blurring at the edges, nothing in her awareness but him and the sound of her blood rushing in her ears. Every feeling, every touch, every emotion and memory flooded back to her at the sight of him, and he looked so handsome… So handsome. He seemed to walk taller, his back straighter, a more confident air about him, and the way his uniform fit him so well… And, of course, there was _her_. The woman on his arm. The woman he turned to, leaned to and whose ear he whispered softly into. The woman he leaned back and smiled at with sparkling eyes. The woman whose elbow he held, guiding and encouraging gently. The woman who would one day be the Countess to his Earl.

She couldn't breathe. Gasping for air, she gripped the stem of the glass in her hand and stared desperately into the sparkling liquid. She was drowning, drowning in memories and emotion and pain, and... The worst of it was _knowing_ that it could have been her, it would have been… Her that he looked at with those soft blue eyes, her that he smiled at so tenderly… It had been, once. And she had thrown it away. She squeezed her eyes shut then looked away, staring blankly into the growing swirl of people in the room. Forcing her eyes away from him. This could not go on, she could not allow herself to be so affected, if she had to not look at him the entire evening then so be it! It would be less painful in the long run.

And so, she did not observe the moment when he looked up and saw her. A moment was all it took; he didn't even realise his eyes unconsciously seeking her out until he was staring at her, breath taken away by her beauty. Mary… She had changed, softened, her hair in gentle waves around her face. Memories overtook him in a rush, all at once, making his head swim with the sharpness and the intensity of it. But she looked so sad, so…

"Darling?"

He blinked; Lavinia was watching him in concern. He flushed, breathing shallowly, feeling for all the world as though he were a child caught doing something he shouldn't. The strange guilt continued to claw at him, he felt a little sick…

"Sorry… Sorry." He took a deep breath and raised a smile. "Lots of memories. It's harder than I'd expected."

"Oh, Matthew, of course," she smiled sympathetically and rubbed his arm tenderly.

Matthew expelled a soft sigh through his smile, guiding her across the room to greet Lord Grantham. He couldn't shake the disconcerting feeling that he had _felt_ more in that single moment, glancing at Mary across the crowded room, than he had… well, ever, with Lavinia. His chest felt tight; he couldn't, he mustn't… Fixing his eyes on his fiancée – yes, his _fiancée_ – he consciously brought to mind her letters, her sweet words and declarations of affection and adoration, yes she _loved_ him, she could make him happy. She _did_ make him happy. _Not her, not her…_ All _she_ ever brought him was pain and heartache. Lavinia brought comfort, peace, _happiness_. Yes. His fiancée. _Think of her. Not of _her_._

Mary hadn't moved from the corner of the room. It was hard, so hard, far harder than she'd expected. She looked around her, eyes scanning the room. She really must make an effort to talk to _somebody_, that, at the very least, may distract her from him… She had just caught the glance of a dark-haired soldier who was definitely making eyes at her, when the sharp clink of cutlery on cut glass sounded and her father's voice rose above the chatter, which slowly quieted and died away.

"Ladies and Gentlemen," Lord Grantham's deep, booming voice rang around the room. "It gives me great pleasure to open this ball in honour of the brave men…"

Mary wanted to clamp her hands over her ears and sing loudly, drowning it out. Childish it may be, she didn't care, she _couldn't_ hear what was coming… Everyone was murmuring their agreement and the odd smatter of applause rippled around the congregated assembly.

"…and on a personal note, I'd like to take this opportunity to announce with the greatest pleasure…"

_No, no, no!_ So long as she didn't hear the words, maybe… Maybe…

She couldn't hear anything anyway; all sound seemed to have drowned out. The world seemed in slow motion, everyone soundless, blurring, as if the very world was in protestation at Matthew's engagement.

Gradually, the delighted applause seeped through to her fogged and distressed mind. She forced her eyes up; people were grinning, calling congratulations…

Forcing her lips into a trembling smile, fearing she'd look out of place, she willed herself to look.

He was looking back at her.

Her lips parted. His fiancée by his side was smiling proudly, beaming at the Earl but he... Oh, he was looking at her. His eyes burned into hers, his face… She was locked, transfixed, held prisoner by his gaze.

The world stopped around her.

**TBC**

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><p>AN: _Thanks for reading! I'm imagining one more chapter following this. I'd love to know what you thought, reviews and comments will be so hugely appreciated - every one really does mean a lot to me. So sorry for the Matthew/Lavinia (I can't promise it gets any better next chapter...)_

_Thank you!_


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: _Part 2! Thanks so much for all the lovely comments on Chatper 1, I hugely appreciate them. Turns out my muse got a little carried away and there will be one more chapter after this...!_

_I'd just like to point out that this entire idea was generated BEFORE the press launch last Friday, so anything in here that doesn't match new series 2 knowledge; well, I didn't know it when I planned this so I hope you'll forgive any discrepancies!_

_Thanks to Silverduck for lots of polish! Enjoy!_

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><p><strong><span>Chapter 2<span>**

As though he were underwater, all Matthew could hear was the dull thud of his own heart beating in his ears. There might as well have been no-one else in the room. He didn't want to look at her, he shouldn't be looking at her, not at this moment… And yet, somehow, he was. And he couldn't look away.

Oh, what was he doing to her, she couldn't bear it… Mary stared helplessly at him, and he stared helplessly back. He looked almost… Guilty? Apologetic? Confused? His lips were parted in wordless apology, to her, communicating volumes in his expression that she could barely begin to comprehend or take in. How could he be looking at her that way, how could he possibly mean what his expression seemed to indicate when his engagement was being congratulated, when he should be the happiest man in the room, how could he stand so calmly beside his fiancée and look at _her_ in that manner… It wasn't fair, it wasn't right! She wanted to hate him for it, but… All she could do was gaze wordlessly back in longing bewilderment.

It may very well have only been seconds, it could have been hours, days… Time seemed to slow down almost to a standstill.

Matthew drew a sharp intake of breath, clawing himself back from her trapping eyes. His uniform felt suddenly tight and constricting, he was gasping for air. With enormous effort he broke her gaze and turned to Lavinia and Lord Grantham, forcing a breathless smile to his face. Lavinia smiled adoringly at him, her pretty wide eyes filled with affection. He pushed his smile a little wider and rested his hand against her slender back, the physical touch grounding him and reassuring him. This was his reality, this was his future, tangible and feasible and _happening_… He could not dwell on the past. He felt shaken, rattled… Determined to re-focus his mind to where it should be, he graciously thanked Lord Grantham as well as the Countess, close by his side, and then asked his fiancée to dance with him.

Mary pressed her eyes closed, expelling a sigh of bitter sadness. It was torturous, seeing him like this. And however he might be feeling, whatever he was revealing in that stolen glance… No matter what it meant, he had _her_ to turn to, while she must simply bear it herself.

After some mingled pleasantries and a dance or two more, Matthew and Lavinia drew back from the colourful tangle of couples in the grand hall and sought a quiet corner of the drawing room to catch their breath.

"Well, how are you finding it all? Not scared off yet?" Matthew asked softly, having retained his hold of her hand after their last dance.

"Perfectly lovely so far! Lord and Lady Grantham have been so kind... I'm aware of the likely expectations they had of their heir's wife –" She grinned nervously at him, gripping his hand a little unconsciously, "– but they've been very welcoming. Everyone has."

"Good." Matthew smiled with gentle pride at his fiancée, when his lips quirked into a slight smirk. "Though, I don't believe you've encountered Cousin Violet yet..."

"Oh, is she the –"

"The Dowager Countess, yes. I suspect she has a heart of gold, it just takes a little while to find it..."

Lavinia laughed; a pretty, delighted laugh accompanied by sparkling eyes that stirred his heart. He was glad she was here, that she was by his side. He could depend on her; on her sweetness and her affection... And he loved her. Feeling a little overwhelmed by it all, he pressed a tender kiss to the back of her hand and then to her rosy cheek. It was so easy when they were together like this, so easy to know that this, she, was what he needed and wanted. A comfort and a love to come back to; this sweet happiness.

"Oh, Matthew," she giggled lightly. "Well, she can detest me if she likes – it is not her I intend to marry!"

They paused a moment, sharing a brief look of contentment. Matthew turned and glanced around the room, moistening his lips which suddenly felt dry. He only wished he didn't still feel quite so conspicuous. In fact, he felt a little odd all over still. Not quite so unsettled, but... on edge, nervous, not quite sure where he fit in this new dynamic of his extended family and his fiancée. How to reconcile the two. After a moment, as if having read his mind, Lavinia broke into his thoughts.

"Now, Matthew dear – I don't want to seem as though I'm a limpet, I really don't." Her odd analogy caused him to chuckle; that made her smile a little wider. "You can't have seen your cousins properly for such a long time. I'm really quite happy to do some mingling on my own now – you've prepared me quite well enough! You must want to talk to them a little without me hanging on your shoulder. Why don't you have a dance with them?"

Matthew raised his eyebrows, lips parting slightly in surprise.

"Well – I don't know that I'd need to go that far, but, Lavinia –"

"Come, now, darling," she looped a hand through the crook of his elbow and patted his arm affectionately. "I know... I know you have – history, here, and... Well. Don't you think it a good idea to clear the air a little? Put all that behind you and make a fresh start of things?" She raised a knowing eyebrow at him, pursing her lips.

Feeling almost ashamed by her understanding of him, heightened by her sense and willingness, prompting even, for him to go and settle things with Mary... Here, in this safe environment of bustle and chatter... She was so _good_, so considerate, so understanding and trusting. Yes, he loved her.

"Oh, Lavinia, you... You're a treasure." He raised his hand and brushed a thumb softly across her cheek, a gentle, gracious smile tugging at his lips. "It's not... Would you mind?"

"I think you should." She smiled bravely at him. She might have been worried over it; could easily have been, but she trusted him and... When he was looking at her like that...

He nodded.

"Alright. Yes, I imagine you're right." He squeezed her hand on his arm reassuringly before letting go. "I shan't be long! Now, then, you know Sybil already – there she is – she'd love to chatter some more, I'm sure. Come and find me, though, won't you."

"Matthew, do stop fussing! Now, go!" She grinned after him as he blushed a little then made his way back through the mingled officers and ladies, watching admiringly the proud set of his shoulders and how well his jacket fitted...

In the meantime, Mary had managed to distract herself quite well by securing dances with various dashing officers, however hard it was to ignore the fact that none were so handsome or engaging as Matthew. Sybil had tried, bless her darling heart. But she was only too aware that distractions were all they were, for inside she still felt empty, desolate. Any sort of cheer she felt whilst swept up in the whirl of a dance was hollow, and quickly faded as she drew once more to the edges of the room, fanning herself delicately to cool the uncomfortable prickling heat that rose when she thought of him. How could she not think of him? It was impossible.

Lost in her regretful misery, she gasped lightly when she felt a hand touch her arm and she spun to see Matthew standing before her. He looked abashed, apologetic, shifting his feet awkwardly. He moistened his lips.

"Hello," he eventually said, barely more than a whisper, trying to raise a smile of greeting.

"Cousin Matthew," she breezed, blinking in surprise at sounding so successfully cool, the salutation of 'cousin' helping build the wall between them even as it twisted her heart in regret. _He must be nothing to you, he can't be, he isn't._ Drawing on every reserve of willpower within her, she threw up the best facade she could build, determined not to let him see how affected she was. It wouldn't be fair, not to either of them. He didn't deserve to see her distress. "I believe congratulations are in order!" Her lips drew into a thin, tight smile.

His lips twitched, and he raised his eyes from the floor tentatively to hers.

"Yes... Thank you. I... know this must be difficult for you, Mary, and –"

"Oh, nonsense!" A dry, humourless laugh left her lips. Her smile pressed a little wider but did not reach her eyes. How dare he presume her misery! How dare he pity her, for being so foolish as to lose him! It was not his place to do so! His comment made it almost easier for her to pretend. "I see no need for any difficulty, Cousin! I am perfectly pleased for you, of course."

A shadow of a frown passed over Matthew's features. Her blasé tone was unlike the sincerity he was used to from her, and, while it unnerved him, what claim had he to her sincerity now? He had changed, moved on; she could perfectly well have, too.

"You're right, of course." He blinked away, regrouping his thoughts, eventually forcing a bright smile to his own face. "I thank you for your sentiment. And what of you? I heard of an attachment to Sir Carlisle?"

Mary took a moment to gather herself, taking a breath. Why must he be asking her about that! Just because he had settled himself with a pretty young thing, why must he probe into her private affairs? It was insufferable! She held her smile, shaking her head dismissively.

"Oh, that... In truth he was a terrible bore! You'd think a newspaper proprietor would be full of interest, but it was all old news. No, I am quite content as I am, thank you!" How could she possibly tell him that she could not think of marrying any other man, any other man than him, not when she harboured such...such passion for him, still. It would only be unfair and futile.

Matthew nodded slowly.

"I see. Well, as long as you're happy – I am glad to hear it, Mary, truly."

"I am!"

There it was again, that cold breeze of a smile that didn't light up her face how it used to. He wondered at her, his gut twisting with feelings and emotions that he wished so desperately to ignore. If it _was_ an act... If she still felt... Her eyes across the room, that moment he had seen her, locked into her heated gaze, surely that had meant something... Or did he truly mean nothing to her now? It disturbed him that the thought bothered him more than he cared to admit. _Remember why you're here, why you're doing this... Stop it. _

He wet his lips nervously, frozen for a moment by indecision, by the tug and struggle between his sense and a deep-seated flicker of desire. Between his love for Lavinia and how utterly drawn he still seemed be to Mary... Slowly, he raised his hand, palm upwards, hovering between them. It was the right thing to do. Was it? Yes.

"Will you honour me with a dance?"

She was not expecting that. She drew in a sharp breath, unable to stop in time her brows shooting up.

"I – Matthew! Are you sure that is appropriate?" Oh, it would be wrong for so many reasons; their history, her feelings, his fiancée... Oh, so unimaginably wrong, but then... Even the thought made her breathless. His lips twitched gently, he looked at her so sincerely...

"Quite sure! Lavinia suggested it herself; I am not shackled to her alone to dance with!" _Oh. _Mary's heart dropped from the brief, soaring joy she'd felt at the slightest hope that he might want to dance with her, plunging back into the blackness of her soul at _her_ name upon his lips, that he was doing it for _her_, not for her... "Please, Mary. Let's put all this behind us... We've both moved on. Come, let's dance to friendship. I don't want there to be any awkwardness between us, I... I would hate to lose you entirely, Mary. Please." His voice trembled slightly with sincerity and emotion. No, he had to cling to her somehow... And this was the safest way. Friends. Cousins. A fresh start.

How could she refuse him? How, when he was all she wanted in the world, when he was gazing at her so pleadingly and tenderly... It was almost laughable, how pitiable she felt. How could she refuse him, when to do so would simply prove irrevocably, to himself and herself and the world, how affected she remained by him, how... how much she still loved him. She had no choice.

"Why should there be any awkwardness, Cousin! How absurd! If you feel the need to prove it with a dance, though – well, you leave me little choice!"

Matthew held his breath, pained once more by her tone, though... she did then seem to soften slightly. There, there was the Mary he knew. She blinked at him, smiling tremulously, and gently placed her hand in his.

She cast her eyes down as she stepped towards him, unable to look at him whilst he was so close. It would be too much. Only when she felt his arm slip around her waist and the warmth of his body against hers did she dare to look up, now that her gaze would fall safely over his shoulder. There, it could well be any soldier, any officer, not... not _Matthew_. Except it _was_ Matthew... And she was so, so aware of him, of his breath falling lightly on her neck, the feel of his arm and shoulder under her hand, through the fabric of his uniform, the feel of his fingers around her palm... For a fleeting moment she stiffened at the intimacy of it, but it did not take long for her to sink relentlessly into it, relaxing against him and into his lead.

Thank God they had only started dancing partway through the dance. The moment she stepped into his arms, Matthew knew he was on dangerous territory. He felt her tense, rigid in his hold, felt her gradually soften and relax, felt her sigh over his shoulder. His cheek practically tingled from the close warmth of hers, he was so desperately aware of every single point where their bodies touched... Oh, it was _Mary_, how had he ever thought things could be easy between them? The sheer effort of concentrating on the dance and struggling to maintain a disaffected attitude was immense, and he felt himself tense uncomfortably. _You're marrying Lavinia. You love Lavinia. She makes you happy, she comforts you, she loves you, she will always stand by you... Think of her, not of _her. Oh, but it was hard, so hard when she was in his arms and warm, soft, supple against him, moving fluidly in response to the gentlest pressure of his hips or leg... It must end soon. It must end soon. He could barely breathe at all, hardly daring to fill his lungs as it would press his chest against hers...

They did not speak, they could not speak. Mary was tempted, so tempted to tilt her head to rest against his and close her eyes, become lost in this bittersweet dream... So wonderful, so fleeting, so intangible... Tangible for now, and real, so real but soon... Soon it would be over and be consigned to the realm of forgotten dreams, treasured memories, a thread to cling to... Her heart was full beyond measure and about to burst, he filled her every sense, his warm, musky scent, the coarse texture of his jacket and the smoothness of his hand, the glimpse of his broad shoulders and back if she glanced just so, the soft sound of his breath... It was too much, all too much, all-encompassing and drowning her, smothering her and God, she never wanted it to end. _It must end. He is not yours. Nothing about him is yours to treasure or to take. It must end, you must leave him, he will leave you, he is not yours..._

As they turned smoothly, Matthew suddenly caught Lavinia's eye from where she stood gracefully at the edge of the room, causing him to gasp slightly as his thoughts snapped sharply back from the woman in his arms. Though she was in conversation with Edith she saw him and gave a little wave and a smile; he thought warmly that he was glad she was getting along well. Every time they turned with the music his eyes caught her again, and he latched onto the sight of her, holding his mind and his thoughts where they should be; with her. But still, there was Mary... So potent, so real, so intoxicating in his embrace. _Stop it! Think of her, not of _her.

Eventually, to the relief of them both, the music drew to a close. Awkwardly, nervously, they stepped back from each other. Without conscious thought their eyes immediately met and they stood for a moment, strangely unable to break their touch, afraid of all it would signify... What it _must_ signify. Letting go. Mary's cheeks were flushed a delicate shade of pink as she gazed up at him, not even aware of the faint expression of adoration and regret on her face. Matthew gazed back, lips parted, the barest hint of longing with a frown across his brow as he struggled within himself to let her go, _let her go_...

It was broken by the touch of his fiancée's hand on his shoulder.

"Hello!" She said brightly. "I'm so sorry to interrupt. Matthew, darling –" He dropped Mary's hand sharply and turned to Lavinia, chest heaving as he breathed deep, calming breaths, raising a nervous smile. Lavinia blinked in satisfaction, her hand possessively on his arm now. "I don't believe you've introduced us yet!" She turned to Mary with an expression of disarmingly sweet charm.

Mary had never felt such an urge to slap anyone in her life, though she sharply reminded herself that this woman had a perfect right to be speaking and acting such. Greater than her pain, though, was her own shame at herself, for being so helpless when faced with him, filled to the brim with regret and longing and desire and knowing, so terribly, that for his loss she had only herself to blame. She blinked, recovering herself swiftly into the dazzling eldest daughter of an Earl – yes, that was her place – and fixed a devastating smile upon her face, her facade belied only by the way her hands clasped and twisted together fiercely at her front.

"Of course," Matthew stammered almost, looking desperately uncomfortable. He had dreaded this. Looking at the air somewhere between the three of them, he gestured to Mary. "Lavinia, this is – my cousin, Lady Mary. Lord and Lady Grantham's eldest daughter. Mary, allow me to introduce Miss Lavinia Swire, my – my fiancée."

The words felt barbed, poisonous, almost impossible to force out. It was done. He waited, breathless.

"Lady Mary – it is such a pleasure. Dear Matthew has told me so much about you, I was quite unsure you could live up to his praise! But I see now he was quite right – as he so often is!" She smiled sweetly, so sickeningly sweetly, her every word piercing Mary's heart like a poison-tipped arrow.

"I assure you, the pleasure is all mine!" The facade was in place, her voice cool, her expression bright. Fixed, hammered, nailed in place by the utmost necessity, the absolute impossibility of this woman seeing her weakness only strengthening her resolve. "I hope you are finding Downton to your liking?" She could not help throwing in the subtle reminder that this, for now, was _her_ territory.

"Immensely so," Lavinia gushed, her hands having looped through Matthew's arm, clutching him almost fiercely, as she spoke. "Matthew has promised to show me the grounds tomorrow; I'm very much looking forward to it."

"Has he? How delightful." Mary felt a stab of bitterness at his presumption, at _their_ presumption. Yes, one day it may well be theirs, but not yet! Oblivious to Matthew's discomfort at Lavinia's side, oblivious to all else but the rising, blinding distress within her at the sight of her hanging onto him and the sound of her affectations towards him, she could bear it no longer... Feeling trapped and panicked, she needed to escape, needed to run, needed to rid herself of them. "Well! Please don't let me keep you. I must see my mother; please do excuse me." Unwittingly her eyes flicked to Matthew, and she allowed them to rest there for a moment. A fainter, more meaningful smile hovered upon her lips, just for a second. "Oh, and thank you, Cousin Matthew; you surprise me with your accomplishment at dancing! Well. You both have my congratulations!"

The glittering smile was back. Lavinia had not missed her sudden sincerity and, all at once, felt a wave of pity for the young woman, and a small measure of apology for having been so unforgiving of her. Matthew's arm had slipped around behind her, his hand pressed reassuringly to the small of her back, and it gave her the courage to soften herself in parting.

"Thank you, Lady Mary." A flash of understanding seemed to pass between the two women; an acknowledgement, an apology. They knew, they accepted. Mary dipped her head gracefully in a slight nod. "Goodbye." And they parted.

**TBC**

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><p>AN: _Thank you for reading! One more part to come, more horrible angst. I do apologise! Reviews will be massively appreciated! Thank you! :)_


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: _Thanks again for all your encouraging comments on Chapter 2! I'm so relieved I'm not just horrifying you all off, though this chapter may well do the trick. It's pure heartbreak, but I really needed to write it, and actually the process of doing so has helped me come to terms with the idea of M/L considerably. M/M WILL get their 'happy ending' (in fact look out for my offering on that front on Monday!) - I'm sure - we just have this to get through first... *sigh*_

_Massive thanks to Silverduck for keeping them all in check!_

_Without further ado I shall let you get on, and hope you enjoy the chapter! _

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><p><strong><span>Chapter 3<span>**

After a moment of silent thought, Matthew turned slightly to face Lavinia, focussing his gaze on her, resisting its pull to watch after Mary's swiftly disappearing back. His heart pounded still from the intensity of dancing with Mary, the almost terror of her meeting his fiancée, the fear he felt at what it meant to him… It was wrong. _Mary _was wrong, wrong for him. This was right, _Lavinia _was right. He looked at her, really looked at her, causing her breath to catch in her throat at the warm intensity of his gaze. She was his world, now, she must be. He was conflicted, torn in so many ways but, when faced only with her… It all seemed to fall into place.

"You know," he said after a long moment of consideration, "I really am happiest when I am with you." He smiled tenderly as the realisation spread through him. Yes, he was. Oh, he could not deny the spark he felt, the connection when faced with Mary… But no matter the _strength_ of what he had felt (what he _still_ felt) for Mary, he wasn't sure he could ever have called it _happiness_. It was intense, it was exhilarating, she made him _feel _so much… But this – this warm, sweet tenderness, this security, this love – gave him _happiness_.

Lavinia blinked and smiled adoringly at him. For a brief second she had worried… Had seen the way Mary looked at him, the way he looked back at her. But how could she doubt this warm, sincere affection? Oh, she loved him.

"I can't deny I'm glad to hear it, Matthew darling!" She chuckled a little, then blinked enquiringly at him. "Did you manage to clear things with Mary, then?"

To her surprise, Matthew simply shrugged a little and looked a little resigned.

"Who knows?" His gaze wandered across the room; no, he could no longer see her. "It's generally hard to tell precisely where one stands with Mary."

"So it seems!" Lavinia had gathered that much already in her brief encounter with the Earl's daughter. She tugged slightly at Matthew's hand and looked questioningly at him. "That's why you withdrew your offer to her, isn't it? You weren't sure of her feelings?"

Matthew was taken aback by the direct question, but impressed at her courage to ask it. He rubbed his thumb across the back of her hand as he answered.

"Yes. Yes, it was." He drew in a little shallow breath, feeling quite overwhelmed. Lavinia nodded slowly, then looked back up at him, a twitch of a smile at her lips.

"Well I hope, darling, you shall never have that fear from me! Could we step outside a moment? I'm feeling rather hot in here all of a sudden."

"Of course, dear Lavinia. I'm sure I could never doubt your affection," he said tenderly, rubbing his hand where it lay still on her back. "Come, then. I'd show you around the grounds now if it weren't dark already! Still, you can see… the driveway, in the light."

They stepped out into the cool night air, shivering slightly at the change in temperature, Lavinia laughing softly at Matthew's wry comment. It was dark now, but they were bathed in the soft light coming from the windows and the lamps either side of the door. Now that they were outside, alone, Lavinia's smile took on a little mischievous glint. She tugged Matthew aside, almost out of the pool of light from the doorway, into the edge of the shadows.

His chest tightened, a pleasant little shiver glancing through him at her indication. It was almost unthinkable, but… They turned to face each other, fingers entwined and hands clasped between them. Matthew felt such a sweet burst of affection for her; for her understanding of him and how well she had borne everything thrown at her this evening, even to be faced with Mary after he had behaved so unfairly... It had not been right of him to dance with Mary, he knew that. The risk, the history, was too great. He must fix his priorities now, or he was at risk of injuring Lavinia just as he himself had been injured. He stepped toward her, tugging his hands gently free and bringing them up to frame her face.

Expectantly, she gazed up at him with wide, unblinking, pretty eyes that fluttered as his fingers brushed over her cheeks, accompanied by a little intake of breath. Matthew felt a little shiver of nervous anticipation. She was so pretty, looked at him with such trust… His lips twitched into a gentle smile before he bent his head and kissed her, lips brushing tentatively over hers, pausing at that first thrill of contact… Then again, more surely, the backs of his fingers easing tendrils of her soft hair out of the way before his hands slipped to the back of her neck.

He smiled against her lips as he felt her stiffen slightly then respond. They kissed slowly, a little unsurely, learning the feel and the taste of each other. He sighed softly, trying to relax the uneasy tension in his shoulders, concentrating on everything about her that was filling his awareness. She was gentle, hesitant, sweet; but not in the same way as – _Stop! Don't think of that, don't you dare compare this with that! Think of her, not of _her_… _

Disturbed by the memory of Mary's embrace intruding on this moment, Matthew frowned gently in frustration, his fingers unconsciously clutching a little tighter at the back of Lavinia's neck as he kissed her with a little more earnest. He wanted to lose himself in her, wanted to drive out everything else, his past and all its possibilities and memories and regrets… They were no use to him now. Only her; only she and her sweet affection were any use to him now, the only sure and comforting thing in his world of mud and blood and war and he needed her. Not _her_ and her fickleness and flippancy and unfaithful promises, no matter how strongly he – _Stop it._

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><p>Inside the cloying atmosphere of the drawing room, Mary leaned against the wall, rolling her eyes with a heavy sigh. She had just escaped the overbearing sympathies of her mother, it had been unbearable… What good was sympathy! Sympathy couldn't turn back the clock, couldn't take back her deeds or her words – or <em>lack<em> of them – it could not lessen her regret or her love, did her no good at all save to remind her of the fact that anyone who supplied it knew and pitied her. And those who were not sympathetic (none but Sybil and her mother would express it, even if they knew it) simply rubbed salt into the wound with their smiles and joy and laughter, their _enjoyment_ of the evening that was all wrong, for there was nothing to enjoy.

Feeling stifled and simply unable to look at another smiling face, Mary couldn't take any more, the heat of the room and the dancing figures were making her dizzy. She needed air, needed to get out, away from this and them and everything that made her think of _him_. With as much composure as she could manage, she politely pushed her way through the assembled guests toward the outer hall. She took the handle and pressed the palm of her other hand against the cool wood, pushing the door gently open.

Immediately as she stepped out, the fresh night breeze cooled her, refreshed her. Mary let go of the door, allowing it to swing shut. Closing her eyes, she inhaled deeply, relishing the cleansing feel of the chill air.

The moment she opened her eyes and turned, she saw them. She froze instantly in shock, hand clutching to her stomach as she was gripped by a cold, twisting stab in her gut. Reeling, she felt assaulted by the sight. His arms tightly around _her_, lips moving against _hers_… If she had felt pained before, it was nothing compared to this agony.

It took Matthew a brief moment to register the heavy click of the door, reverberating in the still air. Startled, he snapped away from Lavinia, gripping her upper arms as if bracing her away from him – and then he saw her.

_Mary_.

His lips parted wordlessly, there was nothing; nothing he could say or do or think aside from the churn of guilt within him. Lavinia blinked up in surprise at him then turned, gasping lightly as she observed the look of utter abjection on Mary's features and connected it to the turmoil on her fiance's.

Mary's hand flew to her forehead; a vain attempt to disguise the misery she was helpless to hide.

"I'm sorry, I… didn't realise. Please excuse me, I must –" she stammered breathlessly even as she turned, eyes fixed desperately on the gravel at her feet so as to not look at _them_. Without waiting for a response she fled, too dazed to care about the impropriety of her display as she bolted from the scene, battling against the image already imprinted in her mind. Once safely inside the door she sagged briefly against the wall, taking a moment to compose herself; well, attempting to, for it was futile. Her mind was reeling, blank, cold, unfeeling; unable to comprehend or think of anything save _them_, burning behind her eyes.

Gasping for air, she wiped her trembling hands over her face, glistening with cold perspiration; pressing the heels of her hands against her eyes to block the tears that had not yet formed. She squeezed her eyes shut and breathed deeply, once, twice, smoothing down her dress in a nervous gesture. Then, clenching her fists by her sides so fiercely her nails dug into her palms, she edged back into the swirling company of the ball and hurried quickly upstairs; to solitude, to loneliness, to despair. She would rather any of that than have to face another person tonight.

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><p>Outside, Matthew stood breathlessly, staring at the door where she had disappeared, hands still clutching at Lavinia's arms. A sense of overwhelming sadness washed over him, clawing at him. He shouldn't have, not here, not while <em>she<em> was here, not after… He pressed his eyes closed for a fleeting moment then glanced back to Lavinia, who was gazing at him in concern. He felt a cold stab of guilt; it should be her he was more concerned of injuring. He shook his head slightly and moistened his lips.

"Lavinia, I'm sorry –"

"No, Matthew," she interrupted him with a finger pressed to his lips. "I am sorry; it is only down to me that we are out here in the first place!" She smiled bravely, stroking her hand across his cheek in an attempt to reassure them both.

"Well, I… I don't mind _that_, of course," he blushed gently, stomach still churning. "It's only that –"

But he was silenced as she squeezed her eyes shut and leaned up on tiptoes, pressing her lips firmly against his. She wanted to make him forget _her_, to go back to how they had been before. Matthew froze a moment, taken aback. Though part of him longed to simply forget all the heartache and give in to her, all he could see behind his closed eyes was Mary, the pained look in her eyes, pain caused by him and his unthinking cruelty. _Think of her, not of _her… But, as soon as he acknowledged the thought, despite his sincerest efforts to dispel them, he could not rid Mary from his mind. Unconsciously he stiffened, resisted, his body protesting the injustice his mind was serving Lavinia. It wasn't right.

She felt it, felt him close off to her, holding himself back. A tiny stab of worry pricked at her. Matthew sighed and pulled away, resting his forehead gently against hers. "I'm sorry."

Lavinia drew a trembling breath.

"Are you alright?" she asked tremulously. "Is it… Is it her?"

The subtle truth in her words only stabbed Matthew's conscience more sharply.

"Lavinia…" He drew back a little to look fully into her eyes. His heart thudded uncomfortably in his chest. He took her hands, squeezing them gently. "Don't think like that, darling, please. Mary is a part of my past, a significant part I know, but… a part of my _past._ You are my future." The sharp twist in his gut suggested that he was almost trying to convince himself as much as her of the fact. "I just think that… maybe this isn't the best time nor place for… this; I'm… sorry."

Lavinia bit her lip and nodded. Matthew raised what he hoped was an encouraging smile and pressed a fleeting kiss to her cheek. _You had your chance. You took _this _chance. Think of her… Not of _her.

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><p>As soon as Mary was up the stairs and around the corner, safely out of sight, she allowed her fragile façade to slip. Her face crumpled and silent tears began to streak down her cheeks, her hand dragging along the wall as she fled to her room, her vision blurring.<p>

Once within the safe confines of her bedchamber, she released herself to the huge, shuddering sobs that had been threatening to overwhelm her. She didn't, she couldn't, even try to diminish or soften them. It would be no use, and she didn't want to… She _wanted_ to cry like this. The strength of her feeling, her utter, depthless despair, _deserved _tears such as these. She paced for a moment, hands balled into fists in front of her eyes but it could not stem the tide of her sorrow. Eventually she fell onto her bed, not caring whether or not anyone passing would hear her or bother about it if they did… She lay, shoulders heaving, weeping bitter, bitter tears into her arms. _You let him go, foolish, stupid girl. He loved you, yes, he loved you, and you let him slip away. You had your chance. You lost him._

**Fin**_  
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><p>AN: _Thank you so much for reading. I am sorry for the lack of happy ending, but I hope you'll understand that that really isn't what this fic was about. Am now sending Matthew to give Mary copious amounts of hugs to make up for his behaviour in this chapter! _

_I'd really love to know what you thought - all reviews are so appreciated. Thank you! (As I said, look out for MUCH HAPPIER THINGS on Monday...!) :)  
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